Close Encounter
by elfx9
Summary: Based a month in the future. Brendan finds out about Trevor's reign-of-terror on Ste. I don't really know what this is.


He's so pale and his eyes are so bloodshot as he stares blankly into space. He barely looks human; so encompassed by fear, rejection and hopelessness that he's lost the signs of life and energy he once upon a time possessed. He looks half-dead with it. As far as Ash is concerned, the man before her may as well be standing at the edge of a bridge, ready to jump. It could be his next port of call once he's finished this whisky bottle, and he's almost there.

"Ste?"

She's barely spoken to him before, but she feels a sense of responsibility there. To Brendan mostly, and to Ste by extension. And because she's a normal human being – and his physical state scares her. As anybody would be scared to confront a person so evidently on the brink of disaster.

"Listen…is there anyone I can call?" Ash says, voice laced with concern. "To come pick you up?"

"I'm not a _kid_!" He snaps. His voice is aggressive; hateful to himself and the world and anybody he shares it with.

"I know. I just thought… you might have someone who can take you home."

"Well I don't."

He says it blankly; no emotion. He's succumbed to the pain of loneliness, and who knows how long ago. Was there even anybody to notice? She knows he lives with that Sinead girl, but god knows she's got problems of her own. She knows he lost his kids… gossip spreads fast.

_Apparently he set some gangster thug on 'em. Poor Amy had to up-heave the little tykes again; hide them away. If she's any sense, she won't tell Ste where they are._

Seems she had that sense, because those kids are long gone. The last shreds of family to him, gone, and with it everything he was living for. Now he's just waiting to die… either by whisky, bridge… or perhaps he's watching the clock until Trevor does the job for him.

XOXOXOXOXO

Like a mirror image, this mans eyes are hollow, blank, emotionless.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" He drawls, his Irish accent instantly recognisable but the blankness of his tone alien. He's not even casual; not nonchalant or effortless… just a void canvas.

"Are you alright, Brendan?" Ash asks; concern… again. "You look terrible."

"I'm on top of the world, Ashley, what do you want?"

"It's Ste." She says, choosing to get to the point.

She figures Brendan wouldn't have agreed to her visit if he hadn't suspected that anyway.

"He's in a bad way."

Brendan looks at her, eyes still hollow; not a single glint of attitude or even recognition. His five months locked inside have vacated his spirit, and he's got at least another thirty years to go.

Ash feels a shiver run up her spine.

"I'm worried about him." She says, prying for some kind of reaction from him and starting to wonder whether this man is Brendan Brady at all.

"What do you expect me to do about it?" He says finally, with a resolute tone like he's given up… already.

"I… I don't…"

It throws her.

"He's… I think he's in trouble." She stumbles, "He works for this guy – Trevor – and I think… I think he's in too deep with him, I think… I just…"

Why is she here? Why is she doing this to Brendan when he's caged up like this, helpless to intervene?

"I just thought you ought to know." She finishes weakly.

There's another pause where Brendan's expression never changes, never wavers. He continues his blank exhibition like the words don't even penetrate.

Eventually he speaks in a low even murmur.

"So you came all this way to tell me Steven's in trouble and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it?"

It confirms her last-minute fears; has her trailing manically back through her recollections, searching for why she thought this was a good idea.

"I just… I just thought…"

"You thought what?"

"Maybe if you… called him or something? I don't… I don't know."

"This meeting is over." Brendan says shortly.

He rises to his feet, so utterly composed but in such a startling, almost spooky way. And he walks away from her, no stride or swagger but no hesitation either – like a robot. Like he hasn't absorbed a thing she's said; it completely unaffected by it.

Of course, she doesn't see when he gets back to his cell, and the impact of her words hit him like a ton of bricks. He crashes to the floor like his legs have given way under him, and he stays like that – overcome – for the remainder of the night.

XOXOXOXO

He lies on his own, like every night, and watches the door, like every night. Any day now it'll knock, and _he'll _come in. The only reason Trevor is holding out is to build the anticipation… make Ste _wait _for his punishment. Trevor knows Ste's ready for it, even darkly _eager _for it… so to give it would be too simple to qualify as completely satisfactory.

When a text bleeps through, Ste knows it's from him. There is nobody else.

_Meet me at Shelvier Warehouse – tomorrow 7pm._

Ste's hands tremble as he pushes the phone back into his pocket.

The confirmation doesn't ease the terrible waiting… the anticipation… the rigid fear of upcoming horror that leaves him feeling permanently sick.

He's scared. One can grow as accustomed as they want to regular beatings but they never stop being scary. Because fighting is scary. And hurting is scary. And dying is scary.

He could kill himself now, do the job himself to save his dignity, but he can't. It's like he was born into a world that put fists in his flesh, and it seems only fitting he leaves it that way too.

He swallows the sob that threatens to wrack through his body. Pulls himself together, like he'll only have to do for one more night. Swigs back vodka… and continues to wait for his fate.

XOXOXOXOXO

There's chaos. Men shouting, alarms ringing. Blood…. blood everywhere. One man had to suffer, be sacrificed, for the cause. Brendan's cellmate lies beaten and bleeding – so desperately so that there's a moment of distraction from the officers.

Through hammering heart, pumping veins, the ringing of adrenaline… Brendan swings and plummets his pursuing police officer to the ground.

He's got a five second leeway here to do what he has to do… to escape…

To tear, climb, beat, kill and – God have mercy on his soul – do whatever it takes to get to his boy, to stop two hearts stopping tonight.

There are sirens – they're everywhere – but the sound is never accompanied by picture. They're not finding him.

Still time is not on his side, but somehow it moves quickly in a wash of colours and speed and panic and anxiety. A man is dragged from a car, his panicked shouts of terror only buzzing in Brendan's ears as he pushes his foot down on the accelerator and soars forward but not fast _enough… _never fast enough.

Nothing is real and everything is helpless... until that moment his breath catches in his throat… because he's here.

The warehouse stands in front of him, and Steven must be close because Brendan can physically _feel _him – sense his presence and his terror.

He kicks down the door – pushes his way inside.

XOXOXOXOXOX

His phone rings.

It's him. Who else would it be?

Ste sits with his back against the warehouse, eyes scanning the darkness of the open woods all around him. His hand is sweaty and shaking so much as he pulls the phone to his ear, feels the frozen breeze tremor up his spine, takes a look at the nights sky because he's sure it'll be the last time he sees it.

"Hi Trevor." He mumbles, the quiver in his voice giving him away like a frightened piece of prey cornered against the wall.

XOXOXOXOXO

Brendan takes a deep breath… and everything stills and lingers for what seems like eternity.

The sound of Trevor's heavy rasping breaths beneath him… the blood coughing and spluttering from his mouth… it all fades to nothing. All he can hear is Steven's voice in his ear… a voice he half-convinced himself he made up.

"_Hi Trevor."_

Brendan closes his eyes, soaks in the sound of that Mancunian accent. The voice that had him crippled with laughter at times, frustrated as hell at others. The voice that delivered sentiments that turned him on, touched him, supported him, astonished him.

Now it's so close to him… minus the crackling of the phone, the intimacy of the voice in his ear reminds him of Steven's breath; whispered confessions "I love you so much y'know." in the middle of the night when he thought Brendan was sleeping.

"… _Hello? Trevor?" _

Now his voice is panicking and scared.

It would be so easy for Brendan to comfort him now, _"It's all okay Steven. I'm sorting it."_… so easy for him to put this all to rest, secure Steven's safety and let him know that everything is going to be okay.

And then have the police catch up with him, and be ripped away from Steven all over again – as if once wasn't enough.

"_Trevor?" _

It's so painful to hear him scared like this. Brendan feels it physically rip through his gut, makes him want to crush Trevor's brains right here, right now… like he has the power to.

But he can't. Not yet.

Prising the phone away from his own ear is one of the hardest, most anguished things he's ever had to do.

He presses it to Trevor. Snarls, "Tell him." – quiet enough so that Steven will never have to hear.

"G…get lost kid!" Trevor stutters into the phone, chest rising and falling in pain and fear of death. "Move town and we call it quits, kay?! Just get out of here!"

There's a pause. Brendan's afraid his own heartbeat will cover the sounds of Steven's voice, but then he hears it… faint through the line.

"… _I don't understand."_

Brendan pushes the phone hard against Trevor as a warning – CONVINCE HIM HE'S SAFE.

"You and me, we're done!" Trevor insists, like the good boy he is when he's scared rigid. "You've learnt your lesson, now just… just go home!"

Brendan can't hang up, not until he's _sure _Steven's got the message – won't be scared anymore.

The sirens wail faintly in the background. They're coming for him.

He pushes his heel into Trevor's crotch, pushes down in a way that has him gasping… choking…

"Look, I'll NEVER come near you again, kay?!" Trevor cries desperately into the phone, "Just… fuckin' hell… GO HOME!"

And then the line goes dead.

And Steven… he runs past the window… runs as fast as he can.

Brendan tucks back into the shadows but it's unnecessary; Steven has no idea that he's here. No idea he's escaped from prison and no idea they're separated by a mere warehouse wall.

That second-long glimpse of a running silhouette is the first time Brendan's seen him in _months. _The last time he'll see him in forever.

And he's gone. Free.

Safe. And blissfully none the wiser.

Brendan chucks Trevor's phone to the other end of the warehouse – has to get it as far away from himself as possible so as not to be tempted to call again. His whole body is pulsing, anguished, with being so tantalisingly close to him.

Brendan pulls Trevor towards him by the scruff of the next, whispers like a madman in his ear; "You've made me very angry, Trevor, very very very very upset, do you understand me?"

"Look, mate, I did what you said, right… I…"

He's silenced. He's silenced over and over with fists and steel boots until he can't speak anymore; doesn't have the function for it… and then he can't think anymore… and then he can't breathe anymore. Brendan destroys him with the pent-up rage of helplessness, possessiveness and tonight's close encounter.

He continues on long after Trevors dead; beating for the nerve, the fucking _audacity _this mother-fucker had for putting Steven at risk; for valuing his life so disposable.

A feat he'll never be able to dare again.

When the police find him he's covered in Trevor's blood and his own dispair at having been so close but so far to the man who fills his dreams each night.

His life sentence extended, just like Steven's life.

It's a price worth paying.


End file.
